[Becoming something other than human, exhaustion is surreal. To Charlie, vampirism was a boon - he begrudgingly accepts the additional facets for inconvenience that accompany it.
Phantom sensations.
He remembers feeling tired after his first encounter with a woman. She had heavy lidded-eyes and enough make-up to stand out in a dark room. As she sunk to her knees between his legs, Charlie had woven a hand into her hair. There was some conversation, obviously one-sided... and then he was exhausted.
The memory of that feeling is all he can conjure after his fleeting afterglow. The specter of a comfortable night's end.
Experiencing such a pleasure again in its purest state is unattainable. Luckily, it's also uninteresting. Charlie watches the demon's gaze, searching for any meanings left between his words. This is purposeful intrigue, he knows, but he's hooked nonetheless.
He also knows that he couldn't - monster to monster - tear this creature apart unless he were permitted to do so. Among his kind, lesser blood will recoil to those with higher status; Charlie is spared such a base impulse here. He simply recognizes power.
The offered route to carnage doesn't daunt him. His destruction will be purposeful, J will know, and be hooked nonetheless. And when he wants more, he'll take it. Charlie seldom backstabs, he's far more comfortable convincing people to drive a knife into their own throats.
Crinkling his eyes under J's gaze, Charlie knows this won't be such a simple exchange. Or, it will be far simpler. Monsters need only speak in claw and teeth. Talk is coy flirtation.
But he quite likes that foreplay.] Monsters like me don't like to show off, you know. We're pretty tight lipped.
So I'm trustin' you to keep it to yourself when I indulge you. [His hands busy themselves with thumbs tucked into the waistband of his swimsuit, resituating it on bony hips. The adjustment leaves his fingers sticky with drying pink slick. Charlie brushes them against his navel idly, a purely physical contemplation before he fixes his robe to cover the swath of his chest.]
I'll find you.
Unless you miss me. Then you can message me - it's Charlie. [Not the most spirited introduction, he usually follows a jovial business script... but Charlie figures they're beyond a handshake.]
helloo i missed u
Phantom sensations.
He remembers feeling tired after his first encounter with a woman. She had heavy lidded-eyes and enough make-up to stand out in a dark room. As she sunk to her knees between his legs, Charlie had woven a hand into her hair. There was some conversation, obviously one-sided... and then he was exhausted.
The memory of that feeling is all he can conjure after his fleeting afterglow. The specter of a comfortable night's end.
Experiencing such a pleasure again in its purest state is unattainable. Luckily, it's also uninteresting. Charlie watches the demon's gaze, searching for any meanings left between his words. This is purposeful intrigue, he knows, but he's hooked nonetheless.
He also knows that he couldn't - monster to monster - tear this creature apart unless he were permitted to do so. Among his kind, lesser blood will recoil to those with higher status; Charlie is spared such a base impulse here. He simply recognizes power.
The offered route to carnage doesn't daunt him. His destruction will be purposeful, J will know, and be hooked nonetheless. And when he wants more, he'll take it. Charlie seldom backstabs, he's far more comfortable convincing people to drive a knife into their own throats.
Crinkling his eyes under J's gaze, Charlie knows this won't be such a simple exchange. Or, it will be far simpler. Monsters need only speak in claw and teeth. Talk is coy flirtation.
But he quite likes that foreplay.] Monsters like me don't like to show off, you know. We're pretty tight lipped.
So I'm trustin' you to keep it to yourself when I indulge you. [His hands busy themselves with thumbs tucked into the waistband of his swimsuit, resituating it on bony hips. The adjustment leaves his fingers sticky with drying pink slick. Charlie brushes them against his navel idly, a purely physical contemplation before he fixes his robe to cover the swath of his chest.]
I'll find you.
Unless you miss me. Then you can message me - it's Charlie. [Not the most spirited introduction, he usually follows a jovial business script... but Charlie figures they're beyond a handshake.]